


Falling in love is all bittersweet

by maniasquared



Series: Stucky One-Shots and Drabbles [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Anxious Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Has Panic Attacks, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Comfort/Angst, Coping, Dating, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Assault, Physical Abuse, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Psychological Trauma, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Steve Rogers Feels, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 00:44:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18927841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maniasquared/pseuds/maniasquared
Summary: "Dating Bucky has never been easy. But is dating easy to begin with? Not really. Not at all, in actuality. Dating is always complicated no matter who it is. It’s just that dating Bucky tends to be more of a challenge (for a lack of better words); you have to be careful with him. Steve doesn’t mind, though. He loves Bucky, regardless of what happened.Some days are easier than others. Some days Bucky’s grinning from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling, and his laughter fills the whole room. His presence reaches sizes larger than himself. He puts the radio on loud and sings at the top of his lungs. He dances in the kitchen. His chest overflows with love and optimism. He’s affectionate, featherlight touches mixing with heavy ones. Both are full of intent, yet different kinds. Steve cherishes those days."Or: Steve learns about Bucky's past relationship.





	Falling in love is all bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> "Falling in love is all bittersweet, this love is strong, why do I feel weak?"
> 
> Title from "How Will I Know" by Sam Smith.
> 
> This is un-beta'd.

Dating Bucky has never been easy. But is dating easy to begin with? Not really. Not at all, in actuality. Dating is always complicated no matter who it is. It’s just that dating Bucky tends to be more of a challenge (for a lack of better words); you have to be careful with him. Steve doesn’t mind, though. He loves Bucky, regardless of what happened.

Some days are easier than others. Some days Bucky’s grinning from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling, and his laughter fills the whole room. His presence reaches sizes larger than himself. He puts the radio on loud and sings at the top of his lungs. He dances in the kitchen. His chest overflows with love and optimism. He’s affectionate, featherlight touches mixing with heavy ones. Both are full of intent, yet different kinds. Steve cherishes those days.

Other days are much harder. Bucky’s expression is often blank or sorrowful, and if he does smile, it doesn’t reach his eyes. It looks forced. He makes himself smaller, curling up on the bed or the couch, sometimes the floor. He wraps himself up in blankets because he feels so cold  _ all the time _ . He wears clothing that doesn’t cling to his skin, especially his neck. He stops talking altogether. He’s like a ghost in his own house, in his own body. He can’t breathe; his chest is burdensome and aches with failure. He closes himself off. Refusing physical touch, he wants to scrub his skin clean of all the filth that refuses to come out of his skin.

Steve can’t always tell when an episode is going to arise. Neither can Bucky and he hates it. He hates himself. Sometimes he wakes up in an episode, sometimes it starts when there’s a trigger. A trigger can be anything from a smell, a word or phrase, a touch, even a movement.

Steve vividly remembers a time he witnessed Bucky having a panic attack from the way he moved: They were making out on the couch, Bucky’s shoulders against the cushions, Steve crouching between his legs. He had his hand held out to cup Bucky’s face and shifted quickly up towards him. Bucky lurched backward, breathing shallow and hard. He had this fear in his eyes, unparalleled to anything Steve’s ever seen. Steve asked if Bucky was okay but he was frozen. Steve reached out, brushing his fingers along Bucky’s thigh when he jumped at the contact as if he was burned. Bucky whispered, “Don’t touch me, please.” Steve apologized profusely, guilt washing over him. He stepped away and Bucky was crying as he locked himself in the bathroom. When he came out, his eyes were red and still leaking. He sat on the far end of the couch, leaving the most space he could between him and Steve. He sniffled and brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his shins. He flinched when Steve slid closer, tensing up. He kept his eyes forward and he quivered at the sound of his name leaving Steve’s lips. Steve asked what was wrong and Bucky replied with, “It just—the movement—it reminded me of  _ him _ .”

Steve’s heart still sinks when he thinks about it. He also gets so angry, he thinks he might kill the man on sight if he ever saw  _ him. _ If he ever gets the chance to.

Trauma is a bitch, Bucky knows that all too well. He’s haunted by it every damn day of his life. He despises the way it affects his relationships, it’s a vice on his heart. When it hits him, it constricts his lungs and he chokes. He’s choking, always choking. Panic sets in, striking him like a bolt of lightning. All he can think about is surviving, and survival is difficult.

Bucky doesn’t like to talk about it and Steve knows better than to pry. He talks about it when he’s comfortable, which is rare. Steve only knows bits and pieces from conversations they’ve had.

* * *

 

“Steve, I’m fucked up,” Bucky sighs, running a hand over his face. “I—there’s a lot to unpack… I don’t know where to start.”

“It’s okay,” Steve tells him, “Take your time.” Then he adds, “I don’t think you’re fucked up, by the way.”

The edges of Bucky’s mouth lift weakly, a ghost of a smile. “Thanks….” They sit for a while, quiet. “I was—I was in—in a relationship before we started dating…. He was emotionally abusive and manipulative; he would hit me and—and….” His words get caught in his throat; they burn as they stick there. It’s on fire. Panic hits him like a ton of bricks.

Panic.

Panic.

Pa-

Reaching forward slowly, Steve takes Bucky’s hand and squeezes it reassuringly. Bucky’s breathing instantly begins to regulate. Steve’s eyes are full of concern and something that Bucky can’t quite place. Adoration? Love? Pity? It isn’t anything that he’d seen in his ex’s eyes. Steve waits patiently, doesn’t want to speak unless it’s okay to do so. He’s waiting for Bucky to continue, but he can’t think of more to say.

“And I’m just… wary, I guess,” Bucky says, signally the end of the discussion.

It starts with short conversations like that, Bucky can’t seem to supply more than a few minutes worth of information at first. With time, Bucky speaks about it more.

* * *

 

“Can I tell you something?” Bucky asks from the doorway. His eyes are glued to the ground; he picks at his fingernails.

Steve looks up from his book and smiles warmly, “Of course, sweetheart.”

“It’s about  _ him _ .”

Bucky notices Steve’s face harden. Guilt washes over him even though he knows it isn’t rational. Steve doesn’t mind Bucky sharing these types of things, he’s actually glad that Bucky trusts him enough to open up. The issue is how much Steve loathes the man who hurt Bucky; he couldn’t bear to think of someone hurting his boyfriend, who’s so precious, kind, and caring. Bucky’s soft, undeserving of the pain he’s endured. Steve wants to wrap him up and shield him from the world so it doesn’t file down his edges into a weapon; he deserves better than that. He deserves to live freely, without worry, without fear.

“Okay,” Steve yields; he breathes through his nose and nods with his eyes closed.

Silence. It rattles Bucky to the core. He can’t bring himself to say it; he loses the confidence he had only minutes ago. It reminds him of the relationship he’s trying to talk about; sharp, fragmented, and cautious. It’s unsettling, makes his skin crawl and itch. Bucky pulls together all the strength his body harbors not to scratch at his healing wounds. His ex is an infection, flowing in his bloodstream, toxic and ruthless. If he reopens those lacerations, he’ll bleed out.

He wants to. Self-destruction is programmed into his very being after everything that happened.

He’s able to regain his words, eventually. “He raped me.” His jaw clenches so does Steve’s. “More than once.”

Bucky is emotionless, crumpled and defeated. Steve fights back tears. He manages, “I’m so sorry, Buck. I’m so fucking sorry. You deserve so much better than that.”

“I don’t, I really don’t….”

He stands and walks until he’s a few feet in front of his partner. “May I hug you?” Bucky nods, forcing himself off the frame. Steve envelopes him in his arms, guiding Bucky’s head into the crook of his neck. “Buck, you deserve the whole goddamn world. You might not believe it, but it’s true.”

Bucky utters an ‘I love you.’ It’s the first time he said it.

“I love you, too.” Steve’s voice cracks. “I love you so much.” They stay in each other’s arms for a long time.

* * *

 

“I would try to push  _ him _ off me,” he blurts once at the dining table. His gaze bores holes into the barely touched plate of food in front of him. “I’d say no, but he never listened. He held me down, told me that I’d enjoy it if I didn’t act like such a prude.” He barks a contemptuous laugh that startles Steve. “He treated me like an object…. He’d also say if I was going to act like a slut or a whore, then I was going to be treated like one. But I don’t know which one I am. What am I to  _ him _ ?”

A beat of silence. There’s always silence when they talk about these things. He looks at Steve expectantly. “Am I a prude or am I a whore?”

“You’re Bucky,” comments Steve, eyes flickering from his plate to his partner. He tries his best to keep his voice even. “That’s all that matters to me.”

“I don’t know who I am.”

“You’re Bucky,” Steve repeats. He isn’t sure of what else he can say at the moment, but he comes up with one thing, at least: “You’re the strongest person I know—I love you—I love you, I adore you, and I’m here for you. However you need.”

“I’m sorry,” mumbles Bucky, turning his head towards the floor; he squirms. Pulling his sleeves over his hands (a nervous habit, Steve’s observed), he can’t look at his boyfriend. Worry bubbles in his stomach and he’s stuck in his head. He’s thinking too much. There’s so much to say, but his mouth won’t move.

“Hey,” Steve cooes, drawing Bucky’s attention. “You don’t have to apologize for anything, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Bucky shrugs, practically whispering, “I feel like a burden.”

“You’re not, I promise,” Steve consoles, his eyes are sincere and loving. Bucky almost believes him. His mouth presses into a thin line and instantly Steve knows where his mind is going. “Buck, look at me.”

He does, teeth grinding in a twist of dejection and defiance. Internally flinching at his tone, his question comes off sharper than he intends, “What?”

Steve is unperturbed at Bucky’s sudden spike in temper. He’s used to the bristling at seemingly random times, he understands that it’s a defense mechanism and it’s a way Bucky’s trauma emerges. He sustains his expression of concern, it seeps into his voice. “You’re not a burden. You might think you are, but I know you’re not. Not to me, Buck. You could never be a burden to me.”  
  


* * *

 

It’s been about two weeks and Steve’s starting to get worried. Bucky’s episodes don’t last this long, ever. The longest one he’s had was a week and a half, according to himself. This was before he met Steve, though. When he gets like this, the concept of time slips. In reality, it could have been a week and a half, or it could have been a month; he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. It’s terrifying, losing time so easily. Steve gives him the distance he needs; one wrong touch will send him deeper into his personal hell.

He moved into Steve’s apartment a month ago, only days after their two year anniversary. They didn’t find it necessary to make up the guest room, they shared a room anyway. Neither thought it would get this severe, though. It stings the worst when Bucky turns in for the night and it’s not in Steve’s—their—bed.

Standing from his favorite armchair, one he frequents when he needs his own space, he mumbles a ‘goodnight’ and shuffles off. Barely an acknowledgment; no hugs, no kisses, just a quick glance. At least he announced his leaving, recently he slips away without a heads up. Maybe it’s a sign of progress. Steve knows it’s okay for him to be sad for Bucky, for himself. He can give himself that. But he can’t let the weight of it fall onto his shoulders. His chest aches with the need to fix everything, even though he can’t feasibly do so.

When Steve decides to go to bed a few hours later, he finds their bed empty. His stomach drops like he’s on a horrific roller coaster and he thinks he might lose his meal. His eyes burn at the sight of his boyfriend curled up on the bed of the guest room, swaddled underneath a heavy quilt. Any hope of progress disintegrates. At first, it looks like a blanket was thrown haphazardly; Steve can see the way it rises and falls with Bucky’s steady breathing. He’s asleep. That fact calms Steve, but only slightly. So he goes to bed alone.

Bucky apologizes the next day, “I’m sorry—about last night, I mean. I just… I don’t think I would’ve been able to do it last night.” He sighs; his body weights a million pounds. “I couldn’t stand to even risk accidentally being touched. It’s not you, Steve, I swear….”

“It’s okay.” Steve buries his pain, pushes it far into the soles of his shoes. “You can sleep wherever you’d like. If sleeping in the guest room by yourself is going to help, then I fully support it. I just want you to be safe; I want you to be happy.”

Although Bucky’s smile is modest, it’s real. Steve’s heart skips a few beats and he nearly says ‘there he is, there’s my Bucky.’ He bites his tongue harshly, ensuring he doesn’t let it out.

It’s in that moment he realizes he’d do anything if it guaranteed Bucky’s happiness, even if it meant slitting his own throat. He’d kill himself for that smile to stay permanently on Bucky’s lips. He feels the sudden urge to cry.

“Thank you, Steve.”

He sleeps in the guest room for another three nights before he moves back into their shared room. Still hesitant to physical contact, Bucky clings to the edge of his side of the bed, but he’s next to Steve.

He wakes from a nightmare, unable to coax oxygen into his lungs. He rips the covers from his sweaty frame and staggers to the bathroom. He doesn’t dare close the door, he can’t be trapped in. He’s already trapped. His head is fuzzy and everything’s blurry around the edges.

Hands all over him, his skin burns. He’s filthy, dirty, unclean, soiled. He’s contaminated, polluted. There’s poison in his blood.

Get it off.

Get it off.

Get it off.

He tears his shirt in the process of removing it, throwing it across the room with a cracked scream. Too close to the neck. He yanks at his hair.

Get  _ him _ off.

Get  _ him _ off.

Get  _ him _ off.

He drags his nails over his skin, willing to draw out the venom. Angry red marks form and there’s a tingling in his veins. Not good enough.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

Cold. He’s shaking violently and his heartbeat’s thundering in his ears. The shower walls are freezing compared to the water pouring down on him; he goes rigid against the sensation.

Please no.

Please no.

Please no.

He lays there, curled up, for God knows how long. He’s holding himself so hard his knuckles go white.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice is faint, distant. Forcing his eyes open, Bucky raises his gaze to his boyfriend crouching in the doorway of the shower. The color has drained from his face. Steve repeats his name and it’s less muffled this time.

“Steve?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he exhales. The knot in his stomach loosens a little. “I’m here, baby. I’m right h—”

Steve’s words are knocked out of him as Bucky lands on his chest. Bucky’s sobbing, gasping while tears run down his cheeks. He clutches his partner’s strong, sturdy torso and breathes in that familiar scent. He chants out ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I love you’ like a broken record. All that runs through his head is:

Steve’s here.

Steve’s here.

Steve’s here.

He’s soaking wet and Steve doesn’t give a flying fuck that he’s getting wet, too; he wraps his arms around Bucky and whispers reassuringly as the other settles down.

They fall quiet, tangled together on the bathroom floor. Every single one of Bucky’s nerves previously on fire now fizzles out with the comforting up-down of Steve’s hand on his back. He sighs, burying his face into Steve’s neck.

Safe.

Safe.

Safe.

When Steve realizes just how bad Bucky’s shivering is, he asks, “Can we get you into some dry clothes and get you back into bed?”

“Yeah,” comes the thick reply.

Getting dressed and laying down doesn’t go as poorly as Steve thought it would, Bucky only flinches a few times and he doesn’t pull away like normal. As Steve pulls the covers onto himself, safely on his side of the bed, Bucky makes a hushed noise of disappointment.

“What’s that, Buck?” Steve rolls over, now facing each other. “What’s wrong?”

Steve can barely make out the blush rising on his partner’s cheeks in the low light. Bucky mumbles, “Hold me, please?”

Steve accepts, opening his arms so Bucky can still be in control of the situation. Bucky notices this and his heart swells with admiration, appreciation, and love. When asked if he wants to talk about it, and he shakes his head no, Steve doesn’t push it. He doesn’t want to cause more harm. Before each action he takes, he ensures that Bucky’s okay with it; carding his fingers softly through the dark hair, pressing light kisses to Bucky’s temple or the top of his head, a soothing hand on his upper arm.

It’s times like these where Bucky remembers that he has a place of belonging, remembers how much Steve truly loves and cares about him, remembers that Steve isn’t anything like  _ him _ and Steve will never be like  _ him _ . Bucky remembers that he’ll be okay, a little tattered around the edges, but okay all the same.


End file.
